


took a trip on a gemini spaceship, couldn't stop thinking 'bout you

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, M/M, Shifters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: A wounded snarl breaks the cheerful hum of the market air, and Yondu snaps around. What in solar flares…? Now he’s listening, there’s jeering too. Taunts, and the sound of flesh against flesh. Yondu turns from where he’s boredly examining some dull tchotchke that’s definitely not cute enough to get added to his collection, and starts casually sauntering towards the hullabaloo.





	took a trip on a gemini spaceship, couldn't stop thinking 'bout you

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the post https://annaknitsspock.tumblr.com/post/171493304586/howtobangyourmonster-kurara-black-blog

A wounded snarl breaks the cheerful hum of the market air, and Yondu snaps around. What in solar flares…? Now he’s listening, there’s jeering too. Taunts, and the sound of flesh against flesh. Yondu turns from where he’s boredly examining some dull tchotchke that’s definitely not cute enough to get added to his collection, and starts casually sauntering towards the hullabaloo.

After all, Yondu has time to kill. No one is due back at the _Starhawk_ until a few hours from now. He’d planned to tag along with the senior crew like normal, but Stakar had shooed him off. Some nonsense about cavorting about with Ravagers his own age this liberty call. 

Never mind Yondu had tried that before. There weren’t too many junior crew keen on hanging out with someone under the close eye of their admiral, no matter that the personage is question was charming and personable. 

Whatever. Yondu can explore just fine on his own. And whatever ruckus is starting, Yondu plans to be in the middle of it.

The strange noise echoes out from one of the alleys just off the main market. Jabar isn’t a heavily populated planet, but there’s a few centers like this one, enough to make it a pleasant if unremarkable liberty port. As Yondu saunters closer, the snarling turns to keening. He pokes his head around the corner, hoping for maybe a spot of f’saki fighting or gambling.

Except… whatever’s happening here, it isn’t a game. 

There’s at least five of them, in a circle. Locals by the look, yellow and bony and shrew-faced. One of them waves about some scrap of hairy pelt looking thing, while a ball of limbs and misery in the middle of the gang snaps his teeth and scrambles at the air. 

They’re kicking at him, taking turns to stomp on whatever body parts of the man in the middle they can reach. Yondu’s eyes narrow, and his mouth turns down. 

Bastards. Unless the man down is some kind of heinous scumbag, Yondu’s hard pressed to think what would make ganging up on him five to one sporting odds. 

“Take it, fuckin’ _mutt_ ,” the tallest one shrieks nasal, shuffles close enough he can lifts his foot up and bring it crunching down on poor bastard’s hand. He howls weakly, a wordless moan of angry and aching and utter alone.

That’s it. 

Yondu enjoys the hell out of a good fight as much as the next Ravager, but ganging on someone as spindly as that? It’s not like he really _cares_ what happens to some random fuzzy-skinned street rat. But it’s not sporting. Yondu can practically see the scowl Stakar would make if he saw this. Those assholes should be beaten up on principle. 

And it’s not like Yondu’s got anything else to do. He’s bored out of his skull. A fight sounds much more interesting than wandering around that lackluster tourist trap of a marketplace some more. 

“Ay,” Yondu throws his shoulders back, saunters into view. “What the poor bastard ever do t’you?” 

The gang freezes for a long moment, eyeing Yondu and his colorful garb. Yondu puffs out his chest, hooks his hand to flare out the edge of his coat. After a moment, the leader finally gets ahold of his tongue. 

“None ‘a your business, spacer,” he blusters, shifts from foot to foot. ‘Go on, shove off.” 

“Now see,” Yondu says blithely, “I’ve made it my business. Don’t seem fair, does it?” 

The gang looks bewildered. 

“I mean, what’d he do then? Call you a bad name? Steal your f’saki?” Yondu smirks, tilts his head, “Tell you it's not you, it's him?”

The leader makes a whiny little growling noise and yells, “Git ‘im, boys.” 

Oh, it’s on now. 

Yondu grins, fierce and thrilling, reaches to slip his arrow from his sheath and flings it thrillinginto the air. A sharp whistle, and the gang freezes. 

“Not so tough now, huh?” Yondu crows, lets his arrow jab towards them in teasing little jerks. “How ‘bout you find some other poor fucker to bother then, leave this one to me.” 

It’s barely a beat before they’e scrambling away, pell mell for the market and away from the crazy blue a-hole with the flying arrow.

That was easy. Cowards. Yondu stifles the grumping pang of disappointment. Not even a little fight, the sniveling bullies. Suppose it was just like men like that, only braggadocios when they’re taking on people weaker. 

The sad pile of bones on the ground groans, starts to struggle to his feet. He comes up teeth bared, curled over like he’s bracing for a blow.

“Calm the fuck down,” Yondu rolls his eyes. Really now. This was the thanks he got, after saving the man’s hide. “Ain’t gonna hurt you. Prefer my fights with people that c’n swing back.”

The man stares up at him suspiciously, one arm still crossed protectively in front of him. Yondu heaves a sigh, chews at his lip. Well, this has been lovely and all, but he’s got other places to be than being glared at by a bruised up twig. The scrap of hairy… whatever it was, slumps in a pile near Yondu’s feet, dropped by the gang in their hurry to get away. 

“Here,” Yondu plucks it up with two fingers, wrinkles his nose. “This what you was so fired up about? Have the damn thing.” 

He steps forward, ignoring the snarl-mouthed cringe, and drapes the pelt thing over the man’s lap. 

There. Mission accomplished. 

The man snaps forward over the stinking scrap like a animal trap, wide-eyed and trembling. He stares up at Yondu, something awed and disbelieving in his eyes. 

Yondu stares back, nonplussed.

The beanpole’s mouth works, and then he forces out scratchily, “You gave it back.” 

Gave it back…?

Yondu squints. “Why the fuck would I keep it? Looks like something a cat hacked up.” 

The man doesn’t puff up in offense at the disparagement to his possession, just fingers the thing reverently and says softer, “You gave it _back_.” 

…right then. 

Time to get out of here before the man starts acting up in even more. 

Yondu grabs his arrow, tucks it away with a disgruntled huff. Not even a story or a nice new scar out of this one. Maybe there’s a tattoo shop at least on this bland hunk of a planet. Or someplace to get a new piercing. 

As he turns to go though, there’s a rough scrabbling behind him and an unhappy whine. 

What is it now? 

Yondu turns half way, and suddenly the man stumbles into view rather closer than is comfortable. 

“You got a problem?” Yondu snaps, hikes his shoulders higher. The stick man is all angles and too big eyes, a greasy shock of hair bisecting his scalp and more fluffing out of every exposed bit of skin. He still has that stupid pelt clutched in his hands, and he’s staring at Yondu with something on his face that make Yondu shift back nervously. 

“Gave it _back_ ,” the man edges closer, “I accept it.”

Yondu blinks bewildered. He does _what_ now? And somehow between one moment and the next the spindly bastard has him by the shoulder, spins him around and shoves him gently against the knobby alley wall. 

His body pins Yondu tight, flush against stone, stronger than his frame would suggest. Yondu swallows hard, and brings his hand up to grab at the man’s collar. To push him away, of course. Except before he can, the man is leaning in, one hand sliding up Yondu’s arm to fasten tight around his nape and _fuck._

Yondu stiffens, his whole body going slack as the man grips harder. He needs to say something, needs to figure out what the hell the bastard is thinking. Except the other arm hooks Yondu close, and he’s being kissed.

It’s almost painful, desperate, the way their mouth clack together. Then the man tilts his head, soften his lips, kneads possessively at Yondu's nape. He presses him back into the wall, like he’s been thirsty for so long and Yondu is his well, like Yondu is _his_ , and fuck it feels good.

Most people take one look at the danger dusting over his shoulders, the Ravager flame on his chest, the admiral always somehow hovering nearby and back down, wait for him to make the first move. And Yondu doesn't mind, he likes that, is happy to get his rocks off and indulge their romantic spacer fantasies in one go. 

But this… no one has ever done anything like this. The man nips at Yondu’s lip, fucks his tongue in when Yondu’s mouth drops open. His hips ruts forwards and he’s hard, and Yondu’s stomach thrills and– 

No.

Yondu coils his muscles, puts his hands to the man’s chest and shoves. The man stumbles back, eyes going wide and wounded and Yondu bares his teeth. 

“Some kind of thank you,” he snarls, straightens his leather huffily. The man’s still staring at him with something hot smoldering in his eyes like banked fires. Like he wants nothing more than to push Yondu back up against that wall, and this time not stop. Before this whole thing can turn any more strange Yondu turns, huffs and makes a beeline for the ship. 

Except, the man follows. 

Not closely. But Yondu knows what it feels like to have eyes on him, and every time he whips around, there the man is. When Yondu glares and postures threateningly in his direction, he casually looks around, likes he’s almost surprised to find himself there. 

But he doesn’t stop. 

Yondu picks up his pace, starts weaving a determined trail towards his M-ship. Lets see the bastard try to follow him onto the _Starhawk_. He ignores the little voice in his hindbrain that complains unhappily, is rather curious about what the toothy bastard would do if Yondu didn't stop him. That wants that hand on his neck squeezing, those too-sharp teeth nipping at places besides his lips. 

It’s just something off he drank, playing at his mind, maybe something strange in the local population’s honeybrew. Whatever it is, Yondu’s gonna go home, and then he’ll never have to look at that man again.


End file.
